


go gentle

by ilaeth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Confessions, Crushes, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Kissing, Growing Old, Heteronormativity, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pining, Time Skips, Underage Drinking, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23123764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilaeth/pseuds/ilaeth
Summary: Kuroo has a girlfriend.It doesn’t come as a surprise to Bokuto. Not really. Kuroo is handsome and strong and smells really nice for a guy who uses the same amount of hair gel as Bokuto does. He sounds like a donkey when he laughs but it’s pretty funny, so Bokuto adds it to the list of Charming Things Kuroo Does To Warrant A Girlfriend, and compares it against his relatively empty list of his own.Bokuto thinks she’s pretty in a way he thinks flowers or little kittens are, but she’s too short, and her hair doesn’t curl at the tips and she doesn’t comment on how much sugar is in the slushies he drinks which leaves Bokuto wondering what Kuroo sees in her that makes him so lovey-dovey, and who he must be comparing her to.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 36
Kudos: 330





	go gentle

**Author's Note:**

> a great big thank you to my good friend norah for beta'ing this for me!
> 
> i've had this written for a few months because i wasn't quite sure how i ended it but i've had a revelation with how brilliant ducks and swans are and decided: yes, this is how this is going. i am also unable to write any bokuaka that isn't pure, teeth-rotting fluff, so here's a warning, lol.
> 
> the title comes from robbie william's "go gentle" which i feel suits this fic very much!
> 
> thank you for clicking on my work! i hope you enjoy! :-)

Kuroo has a girlfriend.

It doesn’t come as a surprise to Bokuto. Not really. Kuroo is handsome and strong and smells really nice for a guy who uses the same amount of hair gel as Bokuto does. He sounds like a donkey when he laughs but it’s pretty funny, so Bokuto adds it to the list of Charming Things Kuroo Does To Warrant A Girlfriend, and compares it against his relatively empty list of his own.

Her name is Aya. She has long brown hair and the first time Kuroo brings her out with them to watch a special rerun of Titanic in the cinema she buys Bokuto a blue slushie and lets him use her handkerchief to cry into. He compliments her hair and she returns it. Bokuto proudly remarks that he styles it all by himself, to what she says must be very difficult to upkeep, and leaves him feeling slightly more proud than he had this morning when the hairs at the side of his temples refused to comply with the sheer amount of hairspray he was using.

She’s funny, kind, and laughs at Bokuto’s jokes but he doesn’t find himself gravitating towards her like Kuroo does. Sometimes he’ll catch Kuroo watching her from the corner of her eye, or smiling in a way that Bokuto thinks he’s been watching too many K-Dramas again to be  _ that _ sentimental. Bokuto thinks she’s pretty in a way he thinks flowers or little kittens are, but she’s too short, and her hair doesn’t curl at the tips and she doesn’t comment on how much sugar is in the slushies which leaves Bokuto wondering what Kuroo sees in her that makes him so lovey-dovey.

After walking her to the train station both he and Kuroo feed their crusts from their sandwiches to the ducks in the park. Bokuto says, “You said we were going to be bachelors until at least twenty six.”

“Can’t help it. Cupid shot me with his arrow and I’m a fool for love.”

“What does it feel like?” Bokuto asks. He crouches down next to a swan climbing out of the water. His knees click and his calves, aching from morning practice, burn. The swan ruffles its feathers clean of water and Bokuto thinks Akaashi would comment something smart about how intelligent birds are, or something. He tears off a corner of his crust and tosses it to the swan.

“Hard to describe,” Kuroo says. He sounds wise like this, Bokuto thinks; like an experienced teacher talking to a pupil. Bokuto listens patiently. “It’s just like having a heated blanket over your shoulders. Or, like you’ve just missed a step on the stairs.”

“That’s kinda scary, Kuroo.”

“It’s nice, though,” he says. He kneels down next to Bokuto and tosses the last of his crust to the swan. Another joins it, drying itself off from lakewater before tottering to the bread. “But, don’t look for it. If you look for it you won’t find it.”

Bokuto thinks that even if he followed those rules he wouldn’t find himself someone like Kuroo has. He feeds the rest of his crust to the swan and tries not to think about it.

☀

“Did you know,” Bokuto says, “Kuroo has a girlfriend now?”

“Does he?” Akaashi replies tepidly, flipping the thin page of his paperback in his lap. He’s taken the window seat because it’s easier to read his book when the light hits it like that. The sun is setting because they ended up playing another practice match at camp and it’s a long drive home in the minibus. It’s casting a warmth to Akaashi’s face that makes his skin look gold. There’s a spattering of freckles underneath his eyes and his lashes are long enough to cast shadows upon his cheeks.

Bokuto nods. He tucks his head closer into the juncture between Akaashi’s neck and shoulder, arms looping around Akaashi’s bicep. He’s like a hot water bottle. Most people don’t like it when Bokuto invades their personal space like this, but he supposes Akaashi doesn’t mind, because he hasn’t complained before. “She’s really nice. She bought me ice cream.”

“That’s nice of her,” Akaashi agrees. “Though, you know ice cream has an alarming amount of sugar in it.” He shifts in order to better accommodate Bokuto’s weight. Bokuto nestles closer and peers down at the book in Akaashi’s lap, watching his fingers thumb the yellowed corners of the paper. He’s reading a romance novel again.

Akaashi always takes such good care of his hands. Bokuto will often catch him filing his nails and applying oils to the cuticles, especially when the weather is cold. Today he has on a thin clear coat of nail polish. It reflects the sunset’s light. He wonders how it would feel to hold his hand between his own; if they’d be as soft as his cheeks looks, or as warm as his body is.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Akaashi?”

“Of course not,” he says, like the answer is obvious.

“How come?” Bokuto asks. He peers up at him from his position at Akaashi’s shoulder and watches a small crease form between his brows. When the reply doesn’t come immediately it stirs something nervous inside Bokuto’s chest because he can tell Akaashi is hesitating. It’s always a bad sight to see him, so sure and stable, have to think twice about what he says. It often means he’s double checking his words in his head as to not offend Bokuto, or he’s going to lie.

“I am simply uninterested,” he says, careful and slow. Hesitantly, he continues: “Would you like to have a girlfriend, Bokuto-san?”

The question is simple. He’s been asked it by his parents and teammates and classmates a dozen times. Bokuto reckons he’s pretty popular at school. He’s had a few confessions before and had been so excited the first time he received an envelope he threw up. But, despite it all, he’s never been on a date. He’d like to think it’s down to his bad luck; that the last girl who asked him out had to cancel because of the rain, and the one before was ill the day they were meant to get ice cream. 

But girlfriend? He hadn’t thought about it before; it was a pretty serious commitment, after all. Bokuto gives a hum as he thinks, sparing it a whole three seconds before replying: “Dunno. Girls are kinda nice, aren’t they? But, I don’t like Aya like that, and she’s really pretty. I think it’s because I knew she was dating Kuroo, so my mind told me not to like her. But I also think it’s ‘cause she doesn’t play volleyball. I think I’d want her to be able to set to me, or receive my spikes.”

“Unless she’s a setter,” Akaashi says, careful, beating around the bush like he’s either too scared to say what he wants outright, or he wants Bokuto to understand what he’s trying to say instead of having to spell it out.

Unfortunately, neither intentions translate well. Bokuto snaps his fingers at Akaashi’s genius eureka moment. He says, sitting upright and still clutching Akaashi’s right bicep between his own, “I didn’t even think of that before, Akaashi! The girl’s volleyball team is pretty cool. Especially Mika-chan. Mika-chan  _ does _ scare me, though. She can beat me in an arm wrestle.”

Akaashi hums in reply. When Bokuto looks down he can see he’s paused completely on the page he’s reading. In the silence that follows he doesn’t flip the paperback closed, but he isn’t reading it either, because he’s stuck on the same chapter until they arrive home. Instead of leaning his head on Bokuto’s like they always do on the bus, he sits upright, and Bokuto feels significantly colder than he did before mentioning Kuroo’s girlfriend.

☀

It’s dark outside, just gone dusk, and his heels ache from walking around town all day. Bokuto slings a towel around his shoulders and wipes his phone’s screen with the tail end of it. Tapping through the condensation on his thumbs he sends a quick text to Akaashi and Kuroo, though he knows Kuroo is probably studying and that he turns his phone off when he’s doing homework.

He can see Akaashi’s been active over the past few hours but, unlike usual, there’s no morning message to check up on Bokuto to see if he’s remembered to do his homework and take his medication. They haven’t texted for the past two days. Bokuto isn’t sure why he’s so disturbed by it; he knows Akaashi studies hard, and is often very busy with gardening and his part-time job, but he knows he must have seen his message because he texted him first thing this morning about what outfit he was going to wear to see Mika, and Akaashi still hadn’t replied to it.

**bokutok:** Hey hey hey akaashi how r u I just came back from my date and I think I have heatstroke hahahahahaha I have so mucg to tell u lol

**bokutok:** much* lol

There is no reply. Bokuto lounges on the bed on his stomach, legs kicked up behind him, and frowns. He watches for Akaashi’s icon to become active, like it usually does when he texts him, but to no avail. His profile picture stares up from the right-hand corner of Bokuto’s phone screen. It’s a grainy selfie he’d taken of them both when Akaashi had found out Bokuto changed his hair conditioner to mayonnaise during the winter training camp and had chased him down the corridor screaming bloody murder.

Usually he’d change to just texting and nagging Kuroo or even Yukie if she’d in a good mood, but this, for some strange reason, leaves an uneasy feeling in his tummy that he can’t shake off. Bokuto wonders if he’s contracted food poisoning from the Mars bar he and Mika shared from the vending machine earlier. He rolls onto his back and peers up at the text he’d sent.

He squints at the blue screen, painfully bright in the darkness of his room, and awaits a reply. It doesn’t come.

Halfway to tugging a sleep shirt over his head, dressed and ready for bed, his phone pings. Bokuto stumbles over his school shoes in his haste and slides tummy-first onto the mattress to snatch his phone up. He doesn’t realise he’s holding his breath until he flips the phone open and reads a reply to his text, thirty two minutes after it’s been sent. His breath leaves him immediately.

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Please get some rest, drink plenty of water, and keep yourself cool Bokuto-san

**bokutok:** late reply akaashi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Sorry, I was helping my sister with her homework. You’re free to tell me about your date if you’d like

**bokutok:** ok!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

**bokutok:** Well u know how mika is shes really cool so she took me to an arcade and then we went to a park to play some volleyball because she wanted to show me her new jump serve . im going to be honest i was pretty jealus of it because shes left handed and all so it makes me want to try serving withboth hands because no one will expect it. Obviously not at the same time. And then we went back to the arcade because i wanted to cash in my tickets and i bought a keychain but i reckon youll like it more because its a little doggy. So ill give it to u tomorrow

**AkaashiKeiji28:** That sounds like quite a busy day you had there.

**bokutok:** ya im exhausted now lol zzzzzz lol

**bokutok:** zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Goodnight, Bokuto-san.

**bokutok:** akaashi it was a joke akaashi im not actually sleeping

**bokutok:** i only said it because im tired. Im not actually sleepng tho. It was a joke lol

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Sorry. 

**bokutok:** its ok :-D it was a pretty good joke ill give u that because i woudl have fallen for it too. Anyway guess what

**AkaashiKeiji28:** What?

**Bokutok:** guess!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Hmm. Did you win that online survey for that free holiday?

**bokutok:** no

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Alright. I give up.

**bokutok:** Aww ok

**bokutok:** ummm turns out mika is dating naomi from the cheer team. I felt REALLY bad but turns out she thought it was just a friend,y date anyway. 

The reply takes longer than it usually does. Bokuto stares at his phone, unblinking, scared if he looked away he’d miss the message notification completely. He’s exhausted from the day but 

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Did you have a good time?

**bokutok:** Ya!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

**AkaashiKeiji28:** I’m glad. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bokuto-san. Don’t forget that physics homework you were assigned last thursday.

**bokutok:** OH YEAH DAM thx. Anyway sleep well akashi!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**AkaashiKeiji28:** Sleep well.

☀

Akaashi never misses training. Last spring he’d come in even after spraining his thumb during a practice match just to run laps and condition on the sidelines. He isn’t here today and it brings great distress to Bokuto.

He says to Konoha, “He’s been kidnapped. It’s all my fault. I used his name when signing up for eBay so they wouldn’t find my home and now he’s gone forever.”

“Calm down,” Konoha says, trying to uncap his bottle that had managed to jam itself closed. He gives it a tug with his teeth until it pops open and takes a swig. “Why is your first assumption to guess he’s been kidnapped?” A pause. “Nevermind. Why am I questioning this?”

Bokuto steamrolls over his rhetorical question with a panicked, “We have to call the police.”

“ _ Relax _ . He’s a smart guy. If he’s been kidnapped don’t you think he’d find his way out of it?”

“They could be really good, though. Oh, god. We have no vice captain. Fukurodani is going to crumble like the Prussian Empire.”

Bokuto sinks to his knees with an agonised cry. Konoha’s mouth twists in a poorly repressed grin, like he’s biting back his laughter. To his left Yukie walks over and delivers a harsh slap to the back of Konoha’s head. He chokes on his water and snorts it out of his nose. “Stop it,” she says, arms recrossing over her gym sweater. “Stop teasing him like that.”

She turns to Bokuto and offers him an apologetic frown, which does little to sate his worries. He snivels and looks up from his kneel on the floor. “He’s at his aunt’s wedding. Didn’t he mention it?”

“‘Course he didn’t,” Konoha says, like it’s obvious. “Probably ‘cause he’d know Bo would react like this.”

“I’m not reacting,” Bokuto says, rising back up to his feet. He has bruises over his knees where he’d dropped. The kneepads are still in his bag; he needs Akaashi’s help pulling on the left one so he always waits until he’s here to put them on. 

Practice continues like normal. It feels like his first year at Fukurodani again, like he’s alone in a way he can’t describe. He knows his team is behind him, always there to lift him up when he needs it, but the missing space on the volleyball court seems so much bigger than it should be. 

☀

By no means was Bokuto’s family home small. They sat comfortably within the working class band, but entering the staggering lot that was Oikawa Tooru’s property left him feeling like a country hick entering the big city for the first time. Yukie seemed to hold the same sentiment, both of them pausing briefly at the lawn’s fringe before crossing the distance to the door.

“I feel like I’m the main character in a feel-good Disney movie,” Yukie remarks. 

Bokuto looks up to the strobe lights on the top floor. He can already feel the bass in his chest through the wall. “Oikawa likes that sort of thing, I guess.” He shrugs, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

“How the hell are you even friends with people this rich?” Yukie murmurs. She tugs the spaghetti strap of her tank top higher on her shoulder and casts a look around the main room. There’s someone she can vaguely recognize from Nekoma being sick into a plant pot. A few third years mull over the DJ booth; a bluetooth speaker and a soundboard, taking requests by the hundred yen.

“Dunno,” he says, honestly. “It’s a pretty swanky house, though.”

Oikawa is in the main sitting room on a sofa, one arm holding a beer bottle by the neck and the other over Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Bokuto had only met Iwaizumi twice and both times they’d battled it out in an arm wrestle. Surprisingly, he’d lost. It’s a strong feat to beat him in strength, so Bokuto has genuine respect for Iwaizumi, even if they’ve barely shared more than a few sentences together. 

“Boku-chan! Manager-chan!” Oikawa calls. Even in the dim lighting of the room the high flush on his cheeks is impossible to go unnoticed. Iwaizumi scowls at the drunken greeting. He looks up to the two new arrivals with a look that reads  _ please forgive him on my behalf. I am just as embarrassed as you are _ . 

Oikawa pushes to stand only to stumble over his own feet and land back on the sofa and partly on Iwaizumi.

“Oikawa!” he scalds, pushing him onto the sofa cushions. “Get off! Your ass is heavy!”

Oikawa’s eyes move from Iwaizumi to both Bokuto and Yukie. He twists back to Iwaizumi and murmurs something into his hair that has him rolling his eyes. 

Their physical proximity is something that Bokuto isn’t used to seeing with anyone other than himself and Akaashi. At first glance it’s easy to pin them down as friends, but Bokuto doesn’t have to squint to see the finer details; the gentle hand Iwaizumi rests over Oikawa’s knee, or the way Oikawa watches Iwaizumi even when they aren’t engaged in conversation. They remind him of Kuroo and Aya and, for the first time, Bokuto wonders if they’re more than best friends.

Something churns in Bokuto’s gut so he turns away and tears at the cardboard of the six-pack of Sprite. He pulls a few bottles out, passing one to Yukie because one of them will have to drive them home and keeps one for himself. 

“Sorry to be a party pooper,” Bokuto interrupts, “But you haven’t happened to see anyone from Fukurodani, have you?” 

The clink of the glass alerts Oikawa, to what he makes grabby hands. “Is that alcohol?”

Iwaizumi slaps them away. “No more for you.”

“Are you my mom, Iwa-chan?”

“Thank God I’m not,” Oikawa tilts back against the sofa cushions and drops his head onto Iwaizumi’s shoulder. He sighs, looks up in the dim lighting, and says, “I saw a couple of your teammates in the kitchen. It’s probably best to look there. Dunno if they’re still there, though.”

He picks up the four remaining lemonades in a cradle and calls, “Thanks!” over his shoulder.

Compared to the sprawled out bodies and dancing figures in the living room the kitchen is a safe haven. It’s western and sleek, decalled in marble with a kitchen island stretching from one side of the room to the other and a double-door fridge with pictures of Oikawa’s very stylish mother and even more stylish self. In the centre of the kitchen there’s a smashed mug on the floor and a very strong smell of coffee past the beer. Konoha and Akaashi, both kneeling on the floor trying to pick up the shattered pieces, look up in alarm.

Akaashi’s cheeks are pink and he’s flushed down to his neck. He’s wearing a cream knit sweater and he’s gazing at Bokuto with an expression like he’s just won the lottery. 

Kuroo, sitting at the kitchen island a few feet away, peers down. “They smashed a mug.”

It takes a moment to process everything. Yukie takes the lead, nudging past Bokuto to march to the counter, hands on hips, to pin Komi with a very disappointed look. “Who gave you all alcohol? You’re underage!”

“Kuroo,” Akaashi blurts. Kuroo hangs his head in his hands and sighs. 

Bokuto takes a step into the room, letting the door swing closed. He lays the bottles on the kitchen island and, standing next to Yukie, takes in the scene. Konoha’s desperately trying to pick up the shattered pieces of china with the naked skin of his hands, muttering about how terrifying Oikawa is when he’s angry, and Akaashi is still looking up to Bokuto with shining, glittering eyes. 

“How much alcohol did you give him, Kuroo?” Bokuto asks. 

Kuroo seems to be taken aback by the startlingly calm tone of his voice. He doesn’t reply, either not knowing the answer to it or because he thinks any volume above zero wouldn’t be the best answer to give. Bokuto crosses the room and unwinds a few sheets of kitchen roll before crouching down between Konoha and Akaashi to mop up the coffee. He wonders if it was a last-ditch effort to sober them both up before they did something stupid like break a mug. At least an attempt was made.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. His voice slurs on itself. He wets his lips, furrows his brows, and searches for words that are usually so easy to find. “Bokuto-san, I seem to be drunk.”

He wonders if this is Akaashi’s first time drinking. He purses his lips before reaching out for both his hands and turns his palms upright. On his left hand there’s a small cut from where some china had pierced through. “Oh,” He says, staring dumbfounded at the blood pooling between the folds of his skin, “I didn’t even notice it was there.”

“Not to worry,” Bokuto says. “Can you stand?”

“I don’t know,” Akaashi says. He raises up on shaking legs before stumbling forward, caught by Bokuto’s sober reflexes. “Oof.”

“Right,” he says, hoisting them both up to their feet. Kuroo, hunched over a kitchen-sink bowl and turning an alarming shade of lime green, watches with hazy eyes as they hobble over to a barstool. Bokuto tugs one out with his free hand and sets Akaashi down, keeping hold of him by the shoulders so he doesn’t keel over.

He’s still looking up at him with those wide, amazed eyes, like he’s watching an eclipse or a shooting star. Bokuto holds him by the jaw with warm hands and tilts his head back a little. “How much have you had?”

“Don’t know,” Akaashi says. He reaches out to hold onto Bokuto by the elbows, leaning his weight on the edge of the chair so he can tip his forehead against his collarbones. “A lot.”

Bokuto resettles him back on the seat so he doesn’t fall over and shoots a disappointed look to Kuroo, whose head is halfway in the bowl. Yukie, meanwhile, tosses back the shot Kuroo had left before deciding he’d had too much, and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist. For the first time Bokuto feels the burden of being the only mature one in the room.

“Can you sit up by yourself?” Bokuto asks, attention turned back to Akaashi. He reaches back out to hold him carefully by the jaw so he stops tilting his head forwards. Boktuo’s scared he’ll give himself a crick in the neck. Akaashi swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, and relishes in the touch. He shakes his head minutely.

The shuffle over to the kitchen counter is messy. Bokuto hoists Akaashi up by the arm, his own slung around his waist, and walks them over the short distance. “Help me out here, Yukie,” He calls. She’s unscrewing her hip flask, looking up with raised eyebrows, as if to say  _ really? _

“I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” she says, tossing a swig back. “He’s all yours.”

“Guess I’m driving tonight, then.”

“Hey, I never said I was planning to take us home.” Kuroo groans into the bowl and hunches forward. Her nose wrinkles, waiting for the sound of his retching, but it doesn’t home. He sobs into the plastic. Komi watches him with mild disgust, playing 8-Ball pool with a computer on his phone. Other than Bokuto he’s the only one who hasn’t drank but still makes no move to help.

He sighs. Bokuto turns to Akaashi and says, “I’m going to hoist you up onto the counter. Alright? Hold on.”

Without much warning Bokuto wraps his arms underneath Akaashi’s thighs and lifts him up to sit on the counter with little trouble. He fumbles, clutches onto Bokuto’s biceps, but settles once he feels the cool marble beneath the denim of his jeans. Akaashi’s hands grip the fabric of Bokuto’s shirt even when he’s safely seated. “Better?”

“Better,” He says. The flush on his cheeks is even more prominent underneath the extractor fan’s light. His eyes twinkle a bright flint, contrasting against the heat on his face.

Bokuto stifles his own smile. To see someone as put together as Akaashi display anything more than a chuckle and smirk on a day to day basis is a sight to behold. He nudges him further back on the counter so he won’t topple off until the backs of his knees reach the edge. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sweet,” he slurs, tilting his head back to rest against the overtop cupboard. “Lots of creamer. It was too hot when I sipped it so I dropped it because I didn’t realise there wasn’t a table in front of me.”

Bokuto nods. He doesn’t part far, partially because the kettle is plugged in a foot away and partly because Akaashi doesn’t seem to be letting go of his biceps, holding on for what Bokuto assumes is stability. He shifts to fill the kettle with water from the tap and sets it to boil on its stand. Back in front of him he reaches out to hold Akaashi up, steady, when he nearly topples head-first from the counter’s edge. “Woah there, partner,” he says.

“I am drunk.” Akaashi remarks again. He pats Bokuto’s biceps and says, “Wow.”

Bokuto chuckles because he isn’t quite sure how to reply to that. He hesitates before speaking and says, “You know, I kind of feel bad. Like, this is how everyone else has to deal with me, ‘cause I can be pretty hard to handle.”

“No, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. He holds up a finger, brows furrowed, like he’s going to debate something very serious, “We don’t ‘deal’ with you. You’re our friend. No one has to put up with you like you  _ think _ they do. We all lift you up because we care for you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Konoha grumbles. He’s joined Yukie at the kitchen island, passing her flask between them both. He’s got a wad of tissue paper on his hand where he’d also cut himself and looks just as far gone as Akaashi. “Bo, you still cry when the Dogs Trust advert comes on. Even the one in the car. You can’t even see the puppies.”

“It  _ is _ a pretty sad advert though, Konoha!”

“That’s what makes you  _ you, _ ” Akaashi’s words slur and jumble as he speaks, like he’s processing what he’s saying after it leaves his mouth. He draws in a deep breath and reaches out to hold onto Bokuto by the shoulders. “We were speaking about how  _ great _ of a captain you are, Bokuto-san, before you came. Fukurodani won’t be half the team it is without you.”

“ _ Here he goes again…” _

“You motivate us to keep going and fight. Watching you is like watching a star be born, or… or spring begin. You are so much more than your emotions and sometimes you forget how great you are. I am so glad and privileged to be your setter. Sometimes I think I could cry.”

“Alright, alright,” Bokuto chides, rubbing his back in gentle little circles. The watery look in Akaashi’s eyes make a small laugh bubble out of his mouth. He knows he shouldn’t laugh because the situation isn’t funny, but seeing Akaashi express emotions so raw for once is something so bizzare it’s funny. He’s speaking with so much passion it’s as if he’s monologuing in a Shakespearean play. “You sure have had a lot to drink. Let it all out. You can cry if you want. I won’t judge.”

Akaashi snivels. He tugs down his sleeves over his wrists to hold to his lower lash line and continues with a vengeance. “You’re a great person, an even greater friend, and… and  _ fuck _ all those girls who cancelled their dates with you!”

“Oh, my God,” Yukie murmurs. She lowers the flask from her lips and says, “he swore.”

“They don’t realise how great and caring and sweet you are, Bokuto-san. It’s so frustrating to see you agonise over not having a girlfriend, but truth be told, you’re too good for  _ any _ of them. Who the  _ hell _ sends out a confession letter then  _ cancels _ on it? No one worth one second of your time, that’s who. You need someone who cares for your hobbies and won’t mock you for your emotions, and--”

Akaashi lets out a sob. Bokuto quickly pulls him into a hug, panicked, and turns to look over his shoulder at the audience. Yukie shugs. Konoha picks at the china still lodged in his hand and Komi pulls a face like he’s watching something he desperately doesn’t want to. Seeing someone as sure as Akaashi speak so vulnerably twists something painful behind Bokuto’s ribs. He hushes him and continues to rub small circles in his back. “I think you’ve had enough for tonight, haven’t you?” he murmurs. Akaashi nods against his shoulder, snivelling into the material of his collar.

“I swear,” Kuroo pipes up from the bowl, voice muffled, “I swear he only had a shot or two.”

“This is his first time drinking,” Bokuto chides, sighing like a disappointed teacher. “You should have known better, Kuroo. Where’s Aya, anyway?”

“Dumped him,” Yaku announces. He saunters in from the back garden and tugs his hood down from his head, tossing an empty beer bottle in the trash bin inside. Akaashi bleats another cry into Bokuto’s shoulder. Yaku winces, pointing a finger and mouthing,  _ is he okay? _

Bokuto nods, giving a thumbs up in return. “This is his lesson to never trust Kuroo,” he says, returning the hand to the back of Akaashi’s shirt.

“It has to be learnt one way or another,” Yaku says, shrugging. He steps over the broken mug and coffee on the floor and says, “Anyone know where Lev is? His sister’s outside and she’s swearing in Russian.”

“Lev? The beanstalk?”

“That’s the one.”

“He was vomiting into a plant pot when we came in,” Yukie says. She crosses her arms over her chest and shrugs, “Not sure if he’s still there, but you’re free to check.”

“Great.”

The door swings shut as Yaku departs. Akaashi, following his exit, pushes back from Bokuto’s shoulders and scrubs at his eyes. “I just wanted you to know, Bokuto-san, that anyone that doesn’t spare time for you isn’t worth it in the first place.”

He’s kindly cut off by Kuroo retching into the bowl. Komi wrinkles his nose and takes a step back from the kitchen island to avoid the smell. Bokuto purses his lips so as to not smile again, knowing maybe Akaashi wouldn’t understand what’s so amusing about the situation. Past the way he’s speaking like he’s reading a speech on why he should become the next Prime Minister of Japan the words genuinely mean a lot. 

Whenever it comes to talking about his emotions Bokuto finds that people tread on eggshells. He knows it’s the reason he’s in the top five instead of the top three aces of Japan. He knows it’s why he doesn’t do well in school. He knows it’s the reason he struggles to maintain friendships. To hear validation this genuine, because Akaashi would never lie to him, sets off a swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

He remembers back to the conversation a few months ago where Kuroo had explained how he felt when he was with Aya, and thinks  _ shit. _

“Well,” Kuroo says, shattering the silence, “If that isn’t a confession, I don’t know what is.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Akaashi announces. He nudges Bokuto back by the shoulders and throws up the contents of his stomach among the shattered mug and cold coffee.

☀

When you have someone by your side every day you don’t realise that the feelings they give you and the light they bring are situational. 

Bokuto stands in an open running track, cuticles bleeding from how severely he’s bitten his skin, and hesitates over his phone. 

There’s a drizzle of rain above Tokyo tonight, dampening the spikes on his head and seeping through the material of his trainers. It's midnight and he’s the only one here, save for a few passerbys, but he still feels like the last person on Earth. Being alone has never fared well with Bokuto. 

He presses Akaashi’s number and waits a whole two rings before the phone is answered.

“I’m here,” Akaashi says. “I’m here. Breathe for me, okay?”

“I can’t. There’s no oxygen, Akaashi,” He says, gripping the phone so tight the plastic creaks underneath his knuckles. “My chest won’t breathe for me.”

“Bokuto-san, remember what we said? In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like you’re at the beach and smelling the saltwater.”

He shakes his head and casts a frightened look around the field. “It’s so cold, Akaashi.”

“Close your eyes. On three we’ll breathe in together, alright?”

“I can’t do it. Akaashi, there’s no oxygen here. I can’t feel it.”

The way he speaks is without hesitation. It eases the wire-tight tension in Bokuto’s shoulders, knowing that if there’s one sure thing in the world, it’s Akaashi. “Imagine I’m there, that we’re at practice, like we used to do. On three, I want you to close your eyes and take a breath in through your nose, okay?”

Bokuto lets out a shaky exhale into the phone. His eyes flit across the open expanse of field in front of him, from the gravel running path to the bleachers on the side, before he closes them and blinks away the tears. “One, two, three,” Akaashi counts. Bokuto draws in a breath through his nose and holds it for two seconds, like they always used to back in highschool, before letting it out in a sigh.

Behind his closed eyelids Bokuto can imagine Akaashi here, holding both of his hands between his own, smoothing over his knuckles with his thumbs. He’s met with longing so painful he thinks he’s having another panic attack. “Four more times, Bokuto-san. One, two, three.”

He breathes in. The pain subsides. The coppery taste at the back of his throat aches and burns but, after matching Akaashi in five measured breaths, the rain seems to stop. He keeps his eyes closed and rocks back on his heels a little to feel the grass beneath his feet sink underneath the rain.

“I miss you, Akaashi,” He says.

“I’m coming up to watch you play next weekend, remember?” Akaashi reminds him. “Don’t think about what’s happening now. Think about then. I’ll bring a volleyball from school so I can set to you in the gym, if you’d like.”

Bokuto does remember. He can’t stop thinking about it. He opens his eyes and nods, though Akaashi can’t see it, and draws in another shaky breath. The pain pressing down upon his ribcage is still there, but it’s manageable, and he thinks he can make it home without feeling overwhelmed again. “Can you stay on the phone while I walk back to the dorms?”

“I can stay on the phone until you sleep, Bokuto-san.”

“No,” He says, taking his first step after being rooted in place. His legs feel stiff like he’s just ran twenty laps and hurt like he’s just done diving drills. “You have class in the morning. I can’t make you miss it.”

“I was awake, anyway. You didn’t disturb me.”

“But...”

“How about we fall asleep together, then? That way we’ll both get plenty of rest.”

Bokuto steps onto the gravel of the running track. He makes a quiet noise which he hopes Akaashi can take as a yes because he still feels guilty about having to make him deal with him like this. Bokuto knows he’s a mess. He knows he’s hard to deal with and knows he’s the reason the team fails to win because he can’t bring himself to hit a spike, sometimes. He thinks about his mother’s disappointed eyes when he told her he’d failed most classes but still managed to get a scholarship for volleyball and sports, and the eyes of his new setter and new blockers when he failed to spike because his mind was so overwhelmed he couldn’t see anything past the swirling fog of his thoughts. 

“Would you like to know about my day?” Akaashi asks. Bokuto thinks about how Akaashi never judged, how he’d pick him up after he fell and brush off his knees and say  _ let’s do better next time. _ He thinks of Akaashi helping him with homework and reminding Bokuto that you are more than what an exam says. He thinks of Akaashi, sure and safe, setting to him from across the court when everyone else had given up on him.

“Yes, please,” Bokuto says.

He listens to how Akaashi says his sister had used his expensive shampoo again, so his hair is frizzy today. There’s a rumour of a ghost in the English corridor so Akaashi says half of his class haven’t turned up for their lessons. He tells Bokuto that they’re fostering a puppy for the time being. Her name is Poppi and she’s only got one eye but Akaashi thinks he’s already too attached to let her go. Bokuto remarks that he always thought Akaashi was a cat person, and Akaashi agrees, but says that Bokuto will just have to meet Poppi in person to see how wonderful she is. 

“I’ll bring her up next Saturday,” He says. “We can take her for a walk.”

“Yes,” Bokuto says. He unlocks the door to his dorm and slips his shoes off. “Yes, can we? And could we go and get her a collar?”

“Of course we can.” Akaashi says. “I think green would suit her best.”

“Green! That’s my favourite colour, too!” 

Akaashi chuckles over the phone. They chat even as he puts on his pyjamas and brushes his teeth and climbs into bed. Bokuto tells Akaashi how he’s sure he’s convinced the libero on his team looked familiar until he realised it was Nekoma’s ex-libero, Yaku. He says it’s nice to know that even away from home there are familiar faces. Akaashi tells him about his university choices and his newfound love for knitting and crocheting. He tells Bokuto that come the winter he’ll knit him a scarf because Tokyo is meant to be cold. Bokuto tells him they should get matching mittens.

The weeks that lead up to the match are agonising. Bokuto’s convinced he’s growing gray hairs until he realises that it’s just his roots coming through the black dye in parts of his hair but still blames it down to stress. He shares a kitchen with four other people but the room is all his and he’s tidied it three times over despite knowing that it was immaculate in the first place because he wants to show Akaashi the collection of little owl trinkets he found at a car-boot sale on his window sill.

He breathes out a shaky breath through his nose. Yaku fixes his collar from where he pulls over the jersey and nudges Bokuto by the elbow. “You okay?”

“Nervous,” Bokuto says. He closes his eyes and imagines being back at Fukurodani; the feeling of hitting a good cut shot with the perfect toss and the perfect angle. He takes a deep breath in through his nose and exhales it through his mouth and the panic begins to dissipate bit by bit. If he relaxes enough he can hear Akaashi counting him through his breathing regimen.

The stadium’s lights are blinding. He steps out onto the floor, the rubber of his shoes squeaking, and scans the crowd. Panic swells up in Bokuto’s chest and expands like a balloon until he reaches the second block of seats and meets flint eyes watching him from the seats to his left. He’s got on a delicate pine-green cardigan and he’s wearing glasses on the bridge of his nose. Bokuto’s mind goes blank, unable to process anything other than the milky expanse of his skin and the rosiness of his cheeks, before everything comes back and he gives an enthusiastic wave, to which Akaashi smiles and returns it. 

He doesn’t know if it’s just luck of the day, that he’s feeling good, or if it’s because Akaashi is there, but Bokuto goes a whole match without forgetting how to spike. He’s trembling with pride when they shake hands with the opposing team at the end, rushing off to the changing rooms to shower, shoot a quick text of  _ meet me outside _ , and dress.

His hair is still damp when he pushes open the doors to the car park. It’s pretty busy given the amount of people that had come to watch and the camera crew, but stood just a few meters away from the entrance Akaashi waits. He’s beautiful. The streetlamp above haloes him in an orange glow that reflects amber on the curls of his hair and Bokuto can’t help himself, drawing Akaashi in a hug so tight it could have crushed his ribcage.

“I watched you,” Akaashi says, curls ruffled and glasses skewed, “I watched you and you were brilliant. Absolutely incredible, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi winds his biceps around his shoulders and hugs Bokuto back with just as much force as he’s being hugged. He laughs as he’s hoisted up, feet dangling off the floor with the combined effort of Bokuto’s enthusiasm and the small height difference between them.

When he’s let back down Bokuto keeps his arms around Akaashi’s midriff and he keeps his on his shoulders. There’s a moment of quiet recognition between the both of them where the puzzle pieces click together and that same buzz of butterflies fills Bokuto’s body from the tips of his fingers to the centre of tummy. Akaashi blinks, raises himself onto the tips of his toes, and presses a kiss to Bokuto’s cheek. He repeats, slow and painfully genuine, “I am so proud of you.”

He raises a hand to his cheek to feel where he’s just been kissed. Akaashi wrinkles his nose when he notices Bokuto’s expression: shell-shocked and spellbound, and flushes, pulling back to bury his face in his hands. “Goodness,” He says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, no!” Bokuto amends. He lunges forward to hold him by the biceps and says, stumbling over his words in his excitement. “Don’t apologise. Please.”

“I should have at least given you warning,” Akaashi retaliates. He’s flushed up to his ears from embarrassment and runs a shaky hand through the dark curls over his forehead. “Sorry.”

It’s another look he rarely sees from Akaashi; unsurity. He has his moments of hesitation but everything Akaashi does is usually well-thought through and calculated. Rarely ever does he act on impulse. Bokuto leans down and delivers a peck to Akaashi’s cheek. When he draws back he matches him with the blush on his face; he can feel it spreading from his neck to his ears. “Now, we’re even.”

Akaashi nods, slowly, looking up at Bokuto through the lenses of his glasses. He’s got that same look in his eyes; the one he had when he was drunk and confessed many sober thoughts he daren’t admit, and Bokuto thinks beyond all the doubts he has about himself one thing he’s certain of is that he’s in love. 

“Do you have Poppi?”

Akaashi blinks. He processes the words, digests them, and bursts out into laughter. “You just kissed me and your next question is to ask where Poppi is?”

Bokuto shrugs, embarrassed. Akaashi reaches out for one of his hands and retains his smile; genuine, beautiful, and everything Bokuto realises he’s missed. He laces their fingers together and says, “Come on. Let’s go take her for a walk. I know you’ll just love her.”

☀

“Look at them!” Bokuto cries, pointing to a family of cygnets tottering behind a swan. “Look at their little waddle! Do you think they need something softer to eat than bread crusts? Maybe they haven’t started teething yet.”

“Careful, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, tossing a small chunk of crust a few feet away from the ducks. The mother swan hasn’t noticed it yet and is feeding off some chips from a cardboard tray on a nearby bench. “You’ll scare them off.”

It’s early in the morning. They’re both taking Poppi out for a walk. She’s getting older now, favouring lounging in their sitting room, basking in the sun, over barking every few hours in demand of a walk. Her legs aren’t what they used to be, so it takes her a while to wake up and stretch. Her head rests on the grass they stand on, laid down next to Akaashi’s feet and panting from the short distance they had to cross from their apartment to the park opposite. 

Bokuto looks to Akaashi, then to the swans, and lowers his voice. “Should we have gotten them just normal bread instead of bread crust? I looked it up and Google said they also like veggies.”

“Swans have surprisingly strong teeth. They’ll often carry the bread to the water to wet it first if they deem it too tough,” Akaashi says. He tears off another chunk and tosses it for them. A cygnet, as small as an apple with grey dandelion fluff covering its tiny body, totters over to the bread and begins pecking at it. “See?” He murmurs. “They’re alright.”

“I love them, Akaashi,” Bokuto says. He stands up from his crouch near the swans and takes a few steps back to join Akaashi on the banking. His hair has flecks of grey in the tips of his curls these days. It shines silver in the sun. They’re both pink-cheeked given how cold this January is, but Akaashi still has freckles underneath his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. Bokuto makes a fuss of kissing it.

“Stop it,” Akaashi says, wrinkling the bridge of his nose, “I moisturised before we came.”

“I don’t mind,” Bokuto says. He gives him a kiss on the cheek, this time. He smells like expensive skin care and fabric softener. Akaashi doesn’t seem to mind, despite his protests, and poorly hides a smile underneath the hem of his scarf. 

The mother swan raises her head from the tray of chips she had been preoccupied with and takes notice of them a few meters away. The grass is dewy this time of day, and when she walks, she kicks up droplets of moisture behind her. The cygnets follow the small pieces of bread they’ve both been tossing for the family to eat. She watches, careful and perceptive, before nudging some bread towards her cygnets and only eating what’s left.

Akaashi tosses the last of his seeded bread to the ducks. Bokuto winds his arms around Akaashi’s, leaning his chin on his shoulder. “Do you think they’re still hungry?”

“They’ll have lots of other people feeding them today. I think they’ll be alright. Perhaps tomorrow we could bring down some potatoes for them.”

“Yes!” Bokuto agrees. The swans a few feet away jump at the volume of his voice. Bokuto winces, quiet until they return to the bread, and continues on his train of thought. “Yes. Could we name them?”

“I don’t see why not. Even though they aren’t ours,” Akaashi reasons. He looks down to Poppi and frowns. “Perhaps it's best to feed those swans more instead of her. She’s put on weight again. The vet won’t be happy.”

“It’s because you keep giving in and feeding her those expensive organic-wholesale treats you got from the market.”

Akaashi splutters. He turns to Bokuto with an offended look in his eye and says, “No, I don’t.”   


“You do,” Bokuto says. He waves a hand in the air, gesturing to nothing, as if he’s recalling a tale from long ago, “Just the other week--when we were watching that documentary on those coyotes, you kept feeding her because she kept doing that thing where she rolls over and waggles her tail.”

It’s as if he’s a criminal caught red handed. The look on his face shutters in realisation. Akaashi lets out a small, “Huh,” and turns to look back down to Poppi. She’s rolled onto her back and waggling her tail.

“It’s not a bad thing, though. I think it’s pretty cute.” Bokuto remarks. Akaashi rolls his eyes and reaches up to nudge his arm. “Maybe not overfeeding the dog, but caring so much for her.”

“And to think you thought I was a cat person.”

Bokuto laughs. He reaches down to hold his partner’s hand, their matching gloves clasping together, and looks out to the mirror of the lake. 

Akaashi leans up to kiss him by the square of his jaw. Bokuto blinks, turns to meet his gaze, and asks, “What was that for?”

“Now,” He says, lips curved in a smile, “we’re even.”

**Author's Note:**

> i am wholeheartedly waiting for furudate to give us timeskip kuroo in prison. 
> 
> also, for reference, a cygnet is a baby swan :-)
> 
> any and all comments + constructive criticism is appreciated!


End file.
